Dreaming, Dreaming
by bensXonlyXfangirl
Summary: His dreams, he imagined, were not so deceitful...
1. Chapter 1

Rewrote it, so its not as horribly short. Didn't think I could finish it, but I like the way it came out. I've got a little Gríma/Éowyn obsession, and I realized there's not enough fanfics for them. Thus, my sad attempt at one. So far this is only a oneshot and I do not plan to write anymore on it, but I might add another chapter later. It won't really be a continuation of this one, just a little short story like this one. **12/31/07 - **Didn't realize all the mistakes I'd left in here, but I've (hopefully) gotten them all corrected, and thanks to WendWriter for pointing it out. Also fixed up the second chapter.

xxxx

He hated dreams, illusions of the mind that brought false hope during sleep, tricking one into considering life was more than it seemed. Hated the clearness and peace with which they came, as detailed as reality but blissfully more so. Hated the way they deceived with images of what you wished had been that only made the torture of waking up more real. What were dreams, if not pure deception and corruption of the mind with intangible thoughts and desires? A trap in which you were subjected to whatever your mind chose to occupy this new world with.

But he loved _his_ dreams.

His dreams, he imagined, were not so deceitful. His dreams of golden hair and blue eyes were different simply because they were _his_. They did not abandon him when he woke, but seemed to cling to his mind, a comfort almost through the horrors of the day that enabled him to continue until night when the dreams would come again. Every detail stayed with him always, so that he could remember the softness of skin he had never felt, the color of eyes shining with an emotion he had never seen in them, the sound of her voice whispering something he had never really heard.

Her eyes were not so clouded in his dreams, were not cold with hate and detachment, had not cried tears of grief. Instead they shined, the pale hue of an early winter morning as the frost receded from the light, never tinged with the unhappiness that had become all to familiar in them. The slanted frown that had so often graced her features forgotten, her face was illuminated by her smile, a real smile. Many times he had seen the remote one she would use for the benefit of others, her brother most often, the cold mask she retained otherwise, and the burning looks she saved especially for him. For a while he had been content to live in a world pierced by her harsh glares, but the smile he imagined in his dreams held a different kind of heat, a warmth akin to the sun's, but more intense, and radiant as fiery starlight..

He knew if ever she were to honor one with a smile like this, it would not be him. But in dreams, reality is nonexistent, and only comforting thoughts and images come with them, and her hate of him did not factor into this. And though he strove ever for her attention, whether it be a glance or a whisper, he hesitated to use the word 'love' unless in his dreams, were he could truly love her.

A shout nearly broke him from sleep, his thoughts hurrying to grasp onto the dream before it slipped away, uncaring and unaware of the cause of the disruption. He loathed the moment when he would be pulled from dreams, frequently against his will. His mind slipped casually back to it's previous distraction with ease, reality once again barred out, as for nothing less than the subject of his dreams would he wake now; his fantasy now built stronger than reality.

Her golden waves shone with sunlight, cascading across her skin, white as Simbelmyne. Her eyes, wells of the bluest water, were not narrowed in dislike, but half-lidded with a calm, warm emotion he had seen often in his mind, gazing at him in revere and intensity. Although her frame appeared slender, almost fragile, the sureness of her movements, the confidence that emanated from her said differently. Her eyes wavered, trembled, with warmth, glowing like a glimpse of heaven. But more angelic than an angel she seemed to him as her pale fingers slid like spiders over him, and he abandoned himself to this dream, accepting the smallest comfort allowed.

He knew it wasn't real, but couldn't help clinging to the hope that maybe when he woke up, he wouldn't be alone.


	2. Chapter 2

She loved dreams, sensations of the mind that brought faith while sleeping, revealing that life might be more than it seemed. Loved the sights and feelings they brought, less than reality, and just vauge enough to give wishes a chance to grow. Loved the way they exposed truth withviews of what might be that made the task of waking up hazy and unreal. What were dreams if not the truthfulness and purity of the mind's most secret thoughts and deepest buried disires? A paradise in which your visions came to live in the world your mind occupied.

But she hated _her_ dreams.

Her dreams, she knew, were not so peaceful. She had thought for a while to call them nightmares instead, for those they were more akin to than dreams, but she dreamed only of her life, not of monsters or fiends, and so hesitated to call them such. Her dreams of dark hair and matching soul were different from the tranquility of other's, and she resented them, hated that they were her's. They refused to remain banished from her thoughts, refused to leave her when she woke, adhering to her mind, a burden through her already encumbered days. She could not get free of the dreams, so she could not help but to remember the roughness of skin she wished she had never felt, blue eyes watching with an emotion she had seen all too often, his silky voice whispering things she did want to believe she had heard, her one fear that made her dread returning to her rooms at night. They were _always_ waiting for her.

His eyes were watching her in these dreams, eyes shining with the evil light that fueled his black soul, never blinking, but _knowing_, more than she would ever conceed he knew, even in a dream. His eyes never left her, even after waking it seemed, a hue of blue so different from her own, but a color that was too horribly familiar to forget. The shrouded look her often wore was gone, face concealed in shadows, shadows she did not wish to see beyond. Many times she had seen the sneers and smirks he threw at others, her brother most often, the blank, pale facade he used otherwise, and the crooked half-grin she had seen directed at her more than once. In no way had she ever been content to live in a world punctured by his dark looks, but the ones in her dreams were different, more sinister and cold than he could've ever achived in reality, like the foul carrion who scavanged the dirt in winter.

She had never seen him attempt a smile at anyone else, and hated she had been the cause of them, that any pleasent feelings bestowed on him might have been because of her, and this dark thought came to her often in sleep. And because she knew he sought ever for her acknowledgement, a fleeting look or quiet murmur, she did her best to deny him these things, in both her mind and actuality.

Someone called her name from behind her door, and her mind scrambled to wake, to be rid of these thoughts if only for a brief moment, to push them away and welcome the distraction that came so willingly to her door. She near feared the moment when she would slip casually into sleep only to have it disturbed by these visons of _him_, to war with her own mind against them. And though she did not realize it, she was again at the mercy of the dreams that sought to overtake her while she slept; and slowly they were winning.

His hair was murky black, like the ink that regularly stained his fingers, contrasting heavily with his skin, white as twisted moonlight. His eyes knew her completely as they gazed, threatening her with her own secrets that had become theirs because of his prying thoughts, taunting and mocking even as his hands reached out. Even his movements brought to mind bleakness, slithering steps that didn't echo in the rooms of her dreams, and as he approached, he looked every bit the Wormtongue.

She knew it wasn't real, but couldn't help being comforted by the fact that when she awoke, she would be alone.


End file.
